


Tonkin

by ThoseFiveChicks



Category: Maggot Boy
Genre: Human AU, I guess I should add more tags but I'm tired so whatever, M/M, Medieval AU, No zambies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-10
Updated: 2014-03-10
Packaged: 2018-01-15 05:32:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1293187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThoseFiveChicks/pseuds/ThoseFiveChicks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things not to say in front of stuffy aristocrats: your boyfriend the prince's adorable nickname.<br/>Or:<br/>Chainey finds out he likes the name Tonkin far more than he thought.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonkin

Boring, boring, _boring_. That was all Davey could think about right now, how utterly, _mind-numbingly_ boring this whole thing was. Politics were fucking stupid, it was all just about how best you could screw over other countries without it _looking_ like that was what you were doing, even though, hey, everyone knew it anyway because that’s what they were doing too!

Well, everyone except Chainey, perhaps– his prince was still as kindhearted as ever, which unfortunately was an absolutely suckish trait when it came to negotiations. Luckily, that wasn’t what they were doing just now– or unluckily, Davey guessed, because negotiations would have been _much_ less boring than. . . this.

Dinner with foreign embassies. Somebody kill him.

“Yes, very interesting,” Chainey was saying, with a smile that Davey knew actually meant ‘I am about to fall asleep in my soup but I’m too goddamn polite for my own good and I will continue to pretend I’m interested long past when any sane individual would tell you to fuck off.’

Yeah. They attended these things a _lot_.

“So _then_ I had to find a way to fix our GDP,” the ambassador said, leaning forward like the edge of his seat wasn’t close enough for such an exciting topic. Nerd.

“Fascinating,” Chainey said, a moment before Davey asked, “What’s GDP?”

The ambassador shot him a nasty look, just like he had every time Davey had spoken up– not that it’d happened often, this stuff was dull as fuck– like he thought bodyguards had no place being heard _or_ seen during political meetings. Chainey, on the other hand, just smiled tiredly at his boyfriend and answered his question.

“It stands for ‘gross domestic product’.” Upon seeing the way Davey’s expression lit up, Chainey hurried to clarify. “It’s the market value of products and services produced in a given country over a year.”

Davey wilted. Damn. Something with a name that promising should have had a _much_ more awesome definition.

He held out for maybe another half and hour of aimless prattling, during which time he nearly fell asleep twice, before he finally couldn’t take it anymore. He poked Chainey repeatedly in the arm, trying to get his attention. “Tonkin, when does this _end?_ ”

The look the ambassador shot him this time was worse, sharp and unforgiving, and for a moment Davey didn’t realize what he’d done wrong.

Then, at the alarmed glance Chainey threw him, he abruptly realized he’d just used one of the many pet names he had for his lover. His very _secret_ lover. And he’d said it in front of an entire room of homophobic dignitaries.

Uh.

Oops.

“ _Jeremiah_ ,” Chainey snapped with a sudden fury, and Davey’s gaze went from the stunned royal assholes to his boyfriend in an instant. “The use of such a nickname is both inappropriate and insulting, no matter _how_ bored you are! I cannot _believe_ you would resort to such familiarity as a means of getting back at me!” He turned to the still-shocked diplomats, expression apologetic. “A thousand apologies, but I must discipline my bodyguard. Excuse me.”

Davey stood at Chainey’s glare, following the prince meekly out the grand double-doors of the dining hall. He spared one last regretful glance backwards as the doors closed behind them. . .

. . .and promptly burst out laughing, collapsing against the wall at the force of it.

“Dude, that was _awesome_. Way to get us out of boring central.”

“Mmm,” Chainey said, smiling again but nowhere near as broadly as Davey. “Not that I’m not completely relieved to have an excuse to leave, but you have to be more careful! If we’re gonna keep this a secret you can’t just bust out with nicknames when we’re in public!”

Davey nodded, rolling his eyes. “Riiight. Sure thing, Daisy Chain.”

“ _Davey!_ ”

“You want something, Tonkin?”

Chainey rolled his eyes, coming over to lean against the wall beside his boyfriend. “Look, I’m not the one who wanted to keep this under wraps, now am I? If you don’t want the public knowing, you’ve gotta accept the limitations.”

“ _Fine_ ,” Davey groaned, muttering ‘buzzkill’ under his breath.

“I _heard_ that.”

“You were supposed to.” Davey reached up, taking his boyfriend’s hand, and tugged him down the hallway. “Look, I figure we’ve got about an hour to kill before anyone figures out we’re not coming back. Where do you wanna go?”

They wound up in Chainey’s room, of course. Not because of any bedroom-related activities– uh, _ew_ – but simply because it was one of the only places in the castle they could really have to themselves. You could bar the doors from the inside and, thanks to Chainey’s strange sleeping affliction, if asked about why they were there in the middle of the day Davey could simply say that the prince had fallen asleep once again and he’d been unable to wake him up, and so brought him here.

They’d gotten pretty good at this. . .

“So. Anything in particular you wanna do, Tonkin?” Davey asked, flopping down on the bed. Chainey made a face at the nickname– it wasn’t one of his favorites, Davey knew– and sat down considerably more stiffly next to him.

“Get out of these clothes, for one thing.”

Davey raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t realize you were that eager.”

“Well I– _Davey!_ ” Chainey reprimanded, a shocked flush staining his cheeks. “You know full well what I meant!”

Davey just shrugged, grinning, although of course he had. The royal robes were the most annoying things imaginable, practically caked with embroidery and heavy enough to restrict full movement. No wonder there were so many successful assassination attempts, nobody would be able to dodge a knife when they couldn’t so much as lift their arms.

“I meant eager to get out of the royal stuffy-clothes, Tonkin, what did _you_ think I meant?”

Chainey glared at him, turning away only to pull off his top. He was wearing a loose white tunic underneath, and when he lay the robe over the foot of the bed Davey swore it sank several inches into the covers. Chainey must’ve just lost about fifty pounds in gold thread.

“I think I prefer ‘Daisy Chain’ to that one,” he said, lying down next to Davey at last after placing his crown– a simple gold circlet– on top of his robe. “Actually, I think I prefer _any_ nickname to that one.

“Aw, come on, Tonkin. I think it’s cute!”

“Would you like it if I started calling you Jeremiah again?”

Davey made a face. “No. But I _do_ think I could change your mind about the nickname, _Tonkin_.”

Chainey’s wince didn’t get any less pronounced. “Try me.”

Davey rolled over on top of Chainey, planting his hands on either side of his suitor’s head. “Tonkin,” he said, pressing a kiss to Chainey’s nose. He ignored the blush that spread over his face almost immediately, continuing as if he couldn’t see what he was doing. “Ton. . . kin. . .” he said again, pausing between each syllable to kiss Chainey’s cheeks. He leaned forward, nuzzling their noses together as he whispered the nickname again, and the next repetition was breathed directly onto Chainey’s mouth.

By the time anyone came after them, almost exactly an hour later, Chainey had turned bright red and also miraculously decided that perhaps Tonkin was an acceptable nickname after all. . .


End file.
